


Faults and Ceasefires

by storyranger



Series: A Boy and His (Big) Dog [6]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: 2017 Quebec Mosque Shooting, Bribes, Communication, Competition, Friend Versus Friend, Gen, Hate Sex, Injury, Misogyny, Panic Attacks, Poor Life Choices, Truces, WWE Royal Rumble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9620000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/storyranger
Summary: "Eventually Roman just can’t take it. 'I just need some quiet and maybe a hamburger. So either you two quit your squabbling and pretend that you like each other, or one of you needs to get out of here.'"With the United States descending into madness and their lives spiralling out of control, Sami and Seth could both use a friend instead of an enemy right now. Can they bury the hatchet and weather the storm?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set just after the January 16 2017 episode of Raw, runs through the 2017 Royal Rumble and ends with the debut of Samoa Joe the next night. Spoilers up to January 30 2017.

Okay, so the fist bump had been a little much.

Sami was just so _nervous_. And Roman and Seth were used to each other, made such a great team. He didn’t want to be the weak link that screwed things up for them. He was so painfully aware that he wasn’t Dean that he’d gone completely overboard in trying to fit in.

 

**_Sami Zayn: I can’t do this._ **

**_Dean Ambrose: breathe, zayn._ **

**_Dean Ambrose: calm the hell down_ **

**_Dean Ambrose: you’ll be fine_ **

 

Sami almost believed Dean, right up until the moment Braun Strowman bulldozed through Sami’s Helluva Kick attempt and everything went to absolute shit. Strowman slings Sami over his shoulder after the pin to drag him off to god knows where, and it’s a fucking miracle that Seth distracts the beast long enough for Sami to scramble out of reach. Sami wants to scream at them to run while they have a chance, but he can’t catch his breath and they start tossing shit off the announcers’ table, prepping for a double powerbomb. A powerbomb that never happens, because Jericho and Owens are on them now, punching and clawing, and Sami might have blacked out for a minute because the next thing he sees is Jericho down and Kevin Owens hitting Seth in the back with a chair. Seth drops like he’s been shot, and now Roman’s been hit too, hard enough to feel it through his tactical vest, and Sami closes his eyes because he doesn’t need to watch as Kevin viciously powerbombs Roman through the table. He never needs to see Kevin powerbomb anyone again in his life.

By the time Seth manages to haul himself to the back and the trainers peel Roman up off the floor, Sami mostly has his bearings again. Collecting gear and getting to their rental car is a blur, watching their backs all the way to the carpark in case Strowman returns to pick the bones.

Seth’s driving, with Roman stretched across the back and Sami bouncing his knee uncontrollably in the passenger seat. The tension between them could be cut with a knife. They’ve all had rides like this before, but it always catches you by surprise just how _loud_ silence can be.

The bickering begins as soon as they pull into the parking lot. Curt comments arguing over who carries Roman’s bag and who should get ice and sharp little ‘I got this, you can go to bed’-s that are veiled in polite concern but translate to “back off, I don’t trust you.”

Eventually Roman just can’t take it.

“ _Just shut up_.”

Sami and Seth’s heads snap to look at him in unison, expressions akin to puppies that have just been called ‘bad dogs’.

“Whip them out and measure already,” he continues, and they both have the decency to look sheepish.

Roman sighs, regretting his tone but not his words. “Look, I’m fine, okay? I feel like shit, sure, but I just need some quiet and maybe a hamburger. So either you two quit your squabbling and pretend that you like each other, or one of you needs to get out of here.”

Sami is about to point out that based off the welts rapidly sprouting on Roman’s back he is obviously not fine, but Seth grabs his arm and drags him into the hall before he can say a word.

“So clearly you’re not my biggest fan,” is Seth’s opener, and Sami’s raised eyebrow indicates this is an understatement at best.

“But, Roman clearly trusts both of us, or he wouldn’t have told us to work it out. So can we call a truce? For Roman’s sake, if nothing else?”

Sami crosses his arms, considering. In Seth’s defence, he’s never done anything too horrific to Sami personally. And he seemed pretty set on destroying Kevin Owens, if there was any truth to that ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’ rot.

“Hi. I’m Sami Zayn,” he says finally, shooting a hand out before he can change his mind about this idea.

“Seth Rollins. It’s a pleasure,” he answers, shaking Sami’s hand, and the wattage off his grin could power a small appliance.

“So you’re good?” Roman asks as they re-enter, Seth bee-lining for the phone to order room-service.

“We’re good,” they confirm, and Roman gets to eat his hamburger in peace.

 

***

 

This could have been so easy.

If he’d read the cues, if he’d waited two minutes for Mick Foley to wrap up his call with Steph, he’d have been in the Rumble, no problems. But no, he’d managed to fuck this up and give Steph an opening to put her dislike of Sami to good use in her schemes against Seth.

At least he understood why Steph hated Seth. It was a _stupid_ collection of reasons, but there were _reasons_. What _he’d_ done to piss her off though, he hadn’t the faintest idea.

Which is why he’s now frantically pacing Roman’s dressing room, while elsewhere backstage Foley is breaking the news to Seth that Sami’s not fighting for any spot in the Rumble, he’s fighting for Seth’s. Bayley is trying her best to talk him down, but he barely hears her. Finally Roman has to physically sit him in a chair, just to get him to pay attention long enough for Bayley to point out the best way to get Steph to fuck off is to win the Rumble, but to do that he has to win tonight. And she’s right, it’s Bayley, she’s always right, so he swallows the nausea and heads to guerrilla position.

He’s beaten guys bigger then Seth, that’s not an issue, but Seth’s smart. He makes plays you don’t expect. Sami’s not stupid by any means, but he’s not clever the way Seth is. Better at playing mental games with himself then with an opponent. He’s so wrapped up in trying to strategize the match that he doesn’t notice the object of his thoughts is standing beside him until the other man speaks.

“Zayn?”

Sami snaps back to reality with a start. “What?”

“Whatever happens, this is not your fault.”

 

It’s a grinding fight. They’re so evenly matched, and they’re both desperate. Right now the other is the only thing standing in the way of their chance to prove themselves, and they will leave everything in the ring for this win. At one point Sami’s on the top rope and Seth tries to go for a pedigree right there, but Sami manages to reverse it into a sunset flip and buy himself some breathing room to make a pin. It’s a minor miracle that Seth kicks out, but the real miracle comes after Seth finally lands a pedigree to the apron that has Sami seeing stars. As Sami lays helplessly on the edge of the ring, Triple H’s music hits.

It’s as if Sami doesn’t exist anymore. Seth is focused wholly on Hunter, abandoning their match completely.

And Sami sees his chance.

It sucks, that to get a spot in the Rumble he has to steal someone else’s, and it’s not fair, that The Authority would pull a cheap trick like this to throw Seth off his game, but he can’t waste an opportunity. He needs that spot in the Rumble, needs it more than he needs to preserve the weird and fragile understanding that’s building between him and Seth or the satisfaction of beating the man sans-distraction. So he grabs Seth from behind and rolls him up for the pin. Sami reels to the outside, practically crying as he raises his fists in triumph, and all Seth can do is kneel there in the ring as wave after wave of anger hits him like a Mack truck.

 

Seth’s not mad at Sami for taking advantage of his broken concentration. He’d have done the same, had KO or Strowman’s music hit. But fucking hell if he’s not going to strangle Triple H on the spot when he finally gets in the same room with him. Fuck, at this point he may just strangle Stephanie as well, for giving away spots to part-timers who haven’t been around for years and making the full-timers fight each other for places. Guys who have been busting their asses night after night for her. Risking limbs and sometimes lives. And fucking Undertaker? _Undertaker_ , who hasn’t even wrestled since _Mania_ , he gets a spot over Seth fucking Rollins?

For the first time, Seth actually feels envy for Dean and the other guys over on _Smackdown LIVE_.

There’s absolutely no way Shane McMahon and Daniel Bryan would pull shit like this on their superstars.

 

***

 

Dean’s pacing backstage the next night when Baron Corbin storms over, face stormy

“The Miz fucking offered me money to beat you up extra tonight in the Lumberjack Match. Can you believe the fucking nerve of that cocksucker?”

“Did you take it?” drawls Dean, raising an eyebrow.

“No!”

Dean shakes his head like Corbin is a promising 5th grader who’s just flunked out of the spelling bee. “You should take it. Good practise for the Rumble, beating each other up a bit.”

Corbin raises an eyebrow. “You want me to split the cash with you, is that it?”

“Hey, if he’s gonna take extra hits, Deano wants to get paid. But nah, brotha. Just a little rusty with beating up my friends s’all. And in the mood to take some dough out of Miz’s pockets.”

“You realise you’re gonna have bruises the size of Texas when I’m through with you,” Corbin points out, and it’s phrased as a statement, not a question.

“Now you’re just dreaming,” Dean shoots back, slapping at him good-humouredly, and they descend into sloppy roughhousing until a pissed-off Dolph Ziggler walks by and snaps at them to knock it off before they break a monitor.

 

“I thought you and Corbin were friends?” Roman asks when he Facetimes that night.

“We are. That’s why we split the bribe.”

Roman shakes his head. “Babe, you know if you need money, I have more than enough.”

“Nah brotha, it was the principle of the thing. Screw Miz out of his ill-gotten gains.”

“You’re a regular Robin Hood.”

“I’ll buy Corbin pizza with my share one of these nights. I don’t actually need the money, I swear. Just thought we should play up the whole “friends versus friends” thing before the Rumble.”

“I hate Rumble season,” sighs Roman, and Dean can see where he’s coming from. His own phone has been blowing up with texts all day from Sami and Seth, and he’s been biting back the urge to three-way call them and then hang up to force them to work things out between themselves.

“ _Uce_?”

“Yeah Ro?”

“Promise if you do need money you’ll come to me instead of doing something stupid?”

“How long have you been sitting on that one, Big Dog?”

“… probably since we started this whole thing.”

“Ain’t promising I’ll take your money, you hear? But I promise I’ll talk to you.”

“Deal, babe.”

“Night Roman.”

 

***

 

On Friday President Voldemort signs an order banning people from seven ~~Muslim~~ countries travelling to the US on visas. Sami turns off his phone and goes for a run.

 

***

 

On Saturday during _Takeover_ Seth slinks up to Elise and taps her curtly on the shoulder. She whirls around to face him apprehensively, and her frown only deepens when she sees who it is.

“I thought I made it clear you’re not part of the deal anymore.”

“Here.” He hands her a thick envelope. She glances inside, finding a stack of crisp $100 bills.

“Rollins, what the fuck is this?”

“A hundred times your new asking price. I was going to get you one hundred fritters too, but I figured that might be hard to hide.”

There’s a beat of silence as Elise thinks it through. “You guys really are good, then?”

“Yeah. I think we are.”

“I can’t take this much money.”

“I’m going after the CFO. They trace this back to you, we both know you’re as fucked as I am. You deserve an emergency fund.”

Elise looks like she’s about to argue the point, but then she shrugs and pockets the envelope. She bites her lip as Seth moves to slip past her into the arena, then snakes her arm out and catches his elbow at the last moment.

“Listen, Seth? The heavy redhead is new. Not a fan, doesn’t know who you are. Rush the ring from his side, you might have a shot.”

 

***

 

Sami lasts longer in the Rumble then anyone expected he would, but it’s still not a win. He’s not main eventing Wrestlemania, and it stings like hell. He walks back to the locker room, shoulders hunched, staring at the ground. He almost walks right into someone waiting by the door to the locker room.

Elise.

“Wait, aren’t you usually posted outside-” he begins, but Elise cuts him off, breathless and frantic.

“Sami. Someone shot up a mosque in Quebec City.”

His ears start ringing, and as he looks at her devastated expression he can tell she’s thinking the same thing.

_Not there. Not now. Not home too._

“How many?” he asks, feeling like a hole just opened up beneath his feet, threatening to swallow him whole.

“Five dead, maybe six.” Her hands are shaking, and she’s close to tears.

“ _Inna lillaahi wa innaa ilayhi raaji’oon_ ,” he breathes softly, reaching out to hug her.

“I’m so sorry, Sami. I am so, so sorry.”

They stand like that for a long time, both shaking, clinging to the other for balance.

“Elise, you should go back out. You’ll get in trouble.” He doesn’t let go.

She shakes her head. “I told my boss I was done.”

“You quit?!” Sami takes a step back, looking horrified.

“No, no, done for tonight. He took one look at his Twitter feed and told me to take tomorrow, too.”

“Ohhh.” Sami nods in relief. He still has one hand on her arm.

“Sami, if you’re going to let floozy fans back here, at least get a room,” sneers Chris Jericho, coming up behind them. _At least he didn’t win, either_ is Sami’s first thought.

Elise loses it.

“Do you see this tag, asshole?” she asks, getting right up in his space, her voice dripping with venom. A shift in her stance, a change in the set of her jaw, and she’s transformed from broken to terrifying. Sami is suddenly scared for Jericho, scared of what Elise might do if Jericho doesn’t knock it off right now.

“What tag’s that, kitten?” Jericho drawls, cocky, and Elise somehow become ever more imposing as she points to the small silver tag pinned to her black polo shirt.

Her voice is impossibly calm as she answers him with, “this one. Right here. The one that says **security**. I’ve kicked out guys twice your size without even blinking, and if you _ever_ insult me or Sami again, you will find out how steel toes feel _when they’re embedded in your shins_. ”

“Is that a threat to Jericho, sugar? Bring it on, maaaaaan,” he says, and his tone is still cocky but Sami can see fear in his eyes.

“No threats, _Chris_. Just a promise.” She stares holes through him, daring him to try something.

Jericho finally takes a step back, muttering something about _entitled millennial bitches_ under his breath as he flees into the locker room.

“It’s adorable, the way he thinks he’s safe just because the door says ‘ **MEN** ’ on it,” Elise bites out, but she doesn’t follow him.

“You okay?” Sami asks quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah. Not the first motherfucker to think calling me ‘sugar’ was a smart play, won’t be the last. ‘Kitten’? That was a new one.”

“I’m sorry.”

Someone else might ask “for what?” But Elise is Canadian too; she’s done her fair share of apologizing for other people, society, random chance, the universe. ‘Sorry’ means ‘I wish things were different, because I want better for you.’

“I mean it. He insults you again, I kick his shins in.” She closes her eyes, leaning back against the wall with a heavy thud, her breathing going a bit funny.

 “Elise?” He’s pretty sure what’s happening, but he wants her consent to before he tries to help.

“Sami?” Her voice sounds far away in her own ears. “I think… I’m having a panic attack.”

“ _Oui, mon amie_. What do I do?” He takes her elbow gently, coaxes her to sit down on one of the equipment cases lying in the corner of the hallway.

“Can I bum a ride off you to the hotel?”

“’Course. Just gotta grab my bag, okay?”

Elise nods stiffly, closing her eyes. Sami slips into the locker room and begins tossing gear into his duffel. Dean and Baron Corbin are sitting side by side on one of the benches, talking softly. Corbin has his head in his hands and Sami can hear snatches of their conversation.

“Hey. It’s okay, dude.”

“I just want to be taken fucking seriously.”

“You got dumped out by The Undertaker, that’s hardly embarrassing. You outlasted Goldberg. Fucking hell, man, you eliminated Braun fucking _Strowman_. I think people take you seriously.” Dean looks across the room and calls out, “Yo, Sami!”

“Yeah?” Sami asks, not turning around.

“Tell Corbin that people take him seriously.”

“I mean, they take you more seriously than they take me, Corbin.”

“See? And that’s more of a compliment then Sami realizes, considering he’s completely blind to how much the fans love him.”

Sami ignores that last bit. “Dean, do you have space for Roman to ride back with you?”

“Yeah, sure. You heading out early?”

“Got something I need to handle.”

“Cool. We all doing breakfast tomorrow?”

“Sure thing.”

Sami gives Corbin a firm pat on the back as he leaves, and he could almost swear the Lone Wolf gives him a small smile.

“Hey. You good to go?” asks Sami, bending down next to Elise.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him gratefully.

“ _Allons-y_ ,” he declares, offering her an arm, and she takes it with a smile. She’s still a bit grey, but her breathing has leveled out. A good start.

 

Elise finally talks again when they’re halfway to the hotel, looking up from her hands with a “thanks for not freaking out back there.”

“I’ve had my fair share of them. You seemed pretty calm about it. Like it wasn’t your first.”

“Used to get them all the fucking time in college. 90% of the time it’s under control now. Honestly, all it means is I don’t really drive.” Sami shoots her an incredulous look. She shrugs. “Didn’t need to in Montreal. It’s why I moved there.”

“You’re not in Montreal anymore, though.”

“City to city I hop in the equipment truck. Hotel to venue, one of the other guards, a cab, sometimes I walk if it’ll take less than an hour. You just… learn to make it work.”

“So first, walking is bullshit and you call one of us next time.”

“Sami, that’s sweet of you. It was really nice of you all to let me hang out that one time, I appreciated it, I did, but I’m just staff. You don’t have to pretend to be friends with me just ’cause I have a side deal with Roman and Dean.”

“Elise, I invited you to drink with us because you’re cool, not out of pity. You shouldn’t have to walk home alone in strange cities just because none of your coworkers are decent enough to drive you.”

“It’s totally safe. I have a knife.”

“… So first, walking is bullshit and you call one of us next time. Second, stop acting like we’re doing you a favour just by talking to you. And third, are you okay?”

There’s a long pause, before a small sigh comes from the passenger seat.

“No.”

They’ve pulled into the parking lot now. Sami kills the engine and turns towards her, placing one hand on her shoulder.

“Talk to me, _ma chère_.”

“I…I just feel so useless. I thought home was safe. I thought all this shit couldn’t touch Canada. What can I even _do_?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

“It’s just all too much.”

They sit in silence for a while. The car slowly grows cold, but neither of them notices.

 Finally, Sami breaks the silence. “Elise, why’d you get into security?”

“Cause I needed a job.”

“Why’d you stay?”

“Because they laughed at me. And… and because I’ve seen too many people who are supposed to be helping go on powertrips and hurt people. Only way it gets better is if better people step up.”

“You’re one of the good ones, Elise.”

“I’m trying to be.”

Sami gives her shoulder a squeeze, then looks down at his phone and swears.

“What now?” asks Elise, worried.

“Nothing serious. Just getting sexiled by my roomates and apparently every single one of my friends.”

“Do I want to know how complicated this gets?”

“Roman kicked Seth and me out so Dean could sleep over, and then Sasha kicked Bayley out so she could sleep with Seth, so Bayley took the key to Dean’s room because apparently Baron found somewhere else to sleep, and normally I’d just bunk with Bayley but she’s letting Naomi crash with her because Becky has someone over, so that’s not an option.”

“You could always crash with me,” she offers timidly. “I mean, my room’s pretty crap. But there’s a bed and a shower. And honestly? I’d be more comfortable not being alone right now. And…maybe you would be, too?”

“It sounds great, Elise. Thank you.”

 

She’s not lying about the room being crap, but the shower works and Elise insists he gets first dibs. Sami steps under it and feels a bit of the tension begin to drain out of his shoulders and back. When he gets out, Elise is lying on her stomach, glued to the CBC Twitter feed. He sits next to her and gently pulls the laptop away, ignoring her quiet protests.

“It’ll all still be there in the morning, chère. Tonight you need a shower and some sleep.”

“Fine,” she signs, surrendering the laptop and heading to the bathroom. When she returns ten minutes later Sami has retrieved his pyjamas from his room (at great personal risk, both physical and emotional) and changed.

“Better?” he asks, as she plops down cross-legged on the bed, beginning to brush out and braid her soaked hair.

“Better.” She finishes the braid and flicks the light off, settling under the covers. Sami sets an alarm and tosses his phone face down onto the side table, plunging the room into darkness.

Sami is asleep almost instantly, but his dreams are troubled and he wakes with a start a few hours later. The curtain is open and Elise has moved to sit on the edge of the bed, staring out at the city below them. She turns around to check on him when she hears him stir.

“Weird dream,” he offers in explanation. “Have you slept at all?”

“No.” Her tone is apologetic.

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arms, and she shifts back to accept the hug.

“Thank you” she whispers, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Sami absently rubs her back as her breathing slows, stopping only when he’s sure she’s finally asleep.

 

***

 

When he next wakes, sunlight is streaming through the window and Elise is still sleeping. He’s loathe to wake her just yet, so he checks his phone, a half-dozen missed texts waiting for him.

 

**_Roman Reigns: shit man_ **

**_Roman Reigns: I thought Dean was giving you his room._ **

**_Roman Reigns: Sorry Sami_ **

**_Roman Reigns: breakfast is on me_ **

 

He texts Roman back a smiley face before he opens the next.

****

**_Grand Cass: You doin’ okay? Saw the news about Quebec City._ **

 

He leaves that message for a minute and moves on to the last, his breath catching as it opens. A short text, from a number he thought he’d deleted long ago.

 

**_Kevin Steen: Que puis-je faire?_ **

 

Elise wakes up before he can even begin to process this.

“You sleep okay?” she asks, stretching.

“Yeah. Breakfast sound good? It’s on Roman.”

“Rule number one of life: never turn down free food.”

 

They’re waiting for Enzo, Big Cass, and the girls to show up so they can order when Sami gets an idea.

“Elise,” he murmers quietly, “can you sew?

“Can you wrestle?”

“I need your help.”

She nods emphatically. “Whatever I can do.”

Across the table, Roman is lecturing Corbin, who contrary to all expectations looks mildly embarrassed by the situation. Seth and Dean are giving each other significant looks and trying not to laugh.

“Dude, I know she’s my cousin, but she’s bad news. She’s… pretty cruel. It’s kinda scary. Like, I never caught her ripping wings off butterflies when we were kids but if you said that was a thing that happened I’d believe you.”

“Noted?” Corbin offers, looking like he’d give anything for a subject change.

Dean provides one, sort of, with a “come on, Ro, you’re telling me you’ve never hate-fucked someone before?”

Roman looks at Dean like he’s grown two heads. He turns to Seth, who puts his hands up in front of himself in a ‘don’t look at me’ gesture, saying “dude, you were there, that’s basically how Sasha and I started.”

Roman looks across the table at Sami, who nods back and says “yeah, no, I don’t get it either.” “Okay good, I thought I was going crazy,” says Roman, relieved. He looks over at Elise, who has suddenly become fascinated with the straw from her water glass, methodically tying it into an elaborate series of knots. She realises the conversation has stopped, and looks up to see Dean giving her a roguish grin. Everyone else is staring at her with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“Fine! I _may_ have quit my job at Métropolis because my supervisor was a complete and total asshole, and then fucked him the weekend before I left to join the WWE security team.”

Corbin actually looks impressed. Seth has begun to laugh, and Sasha chooses this moment to show up, sliding into the booth next to him with a “what’s so funny” as Bayley drops into the seat on the other side of Sami.

At least Seth has the decency to blush furiously as Roman loudly declares they should start ordering without the Certified Gs and the conversation thread is dropped like the hot potatoes covering page 3 of the menu.

 

Some felt, some elastic, and a patient sewing lesson later, Sami has a pair of black armbands with white fleur-de-lis ready to wear on tonight’s _Raw_. He leaves the second armband in Kevin’s dressing room, not bothering to stay and ask him to wear it. Too much bad blood there.

It feels so good when Kevin comes out with it on, though, despite the horrific circumstances. Something other than hate begins to worm a place into the Kevin Owens-shaped hole in his heart, and he hates and loves that unnamed feeling in equal measure.

 

***

 

Seth should have realized this was too good to be true.

Triple H, alone in the ring, stripped down for a fight, daring him to come and get some.

He should have seen this coming. Yet again, Hunter’s played him like a violin.

But his first though as he crashes to the floor is _**fuck**. Not the knee_.

When Samoa Joe drags him up by the hair, presenting him as an offering to Triple H, on the outside Seth’s growling in pain, but inside he’s assessing the damage, calculating rehab time, promising himself that _this is not over_.

And as he inches towards unconsciousness, Samoa Joe’s arms locked around his throat, all he can think is _at least this time, someone’s going to miss me_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hurt comfort fics to get us through Rollins’ time on the shelf? Hurt comfort fics to get us through Rollins’ time on the shelf.  
> Also Elise is Ranger’verse main cast now. Deal with it. I need an outsider to do plot shit sometimes.


End file.
